Rebus drove straight back to the Infirmary and told Christine Esson she could take a break.
‘On whose orders?’ she asked.
‘All I need is five minutes. Maybe you could nip to the loo or something.’
‘It’s nice to see you too, John.’
‘Sorry, I’m forgetting my manners. How are you, Christine? You and Ronnie still an item?’
‘Not for much longer if he doesn’t shave off that moustache.’
‘I thought the hirsute look was in? Want me to drop a hint?’
‘You think I’ve not tried?’
‘I could hold him down while you take a razor to his face?’
She smiled and placed her magazine on the floor before getting to her feet. ‘Five minutes?’
‘Tops.’ Rebus looked at the figure in the bed. The sheet had been pulled up to his neck, but with his arms lifted clear by a framework of splints and clamps, so that his bandaged hands sat mid-air, relieved of any pressure. His eyes were closed, but Rebus got the feeling he was awake. ‘Has he said anything?’
‘Not since I arrived. His other visitor left soon after.’
‘Donny Applecross?’
Esson nodded. ‘A nurse asked Mr Arnott if he wanted a drink. He tilted his head and she fed him through a straw.’ Esson gestured towards the plastic tumbler on the bedside unit.
‘Off you go then and stretch your legs.’
Rebus watched her pick up her shoulder bag and make her exit. The ward was full, but none of the men looked remotely interested in anything around them. Two were asleep, one with his mouth gaping, small snores escaping. Another was wearing headphones while watching a TV monitor. Each bed had a similar screen, but you paid for the privilege. He wondered if it was any more expensive than the car park, but surely that was unfeasible.
Rebus didn’t bother sitting down. He walked around the bed to the other side and poured a little more water from the jug into the tumbler.
‘Fancy some?’ he asked. There was no response. He checked the chart as best he could. An intravenous drip had been fixed to Arnott’s left forearm. Usually they used the back of the hand, but Rebus could appreciate that this would not have been an option with this particular patient.
‘No family, Kenny? No mates other than your young fighter friend? That’s a shame. You look okay, though.’ Rebus paused. ‘In fact, you look good enough to kiss.’ He leaned over so that a shadow fell across Arnott’s face. With their mouths no more than an inch apart, Arnott’s eyes flew open. Rebus smiled and straightened up.
‘I seem to have got your attention,’ he said. ‘So here’s what I have to say. We are going after Cafferty on your behalf, with your help or without it. Either way he’s going to think you talked, so you better start hoping we put together a strong enough case to lock him away for a while. Be a hell of a lot easier if you told us at least a little of what happened. And if you so much as whisper the word “accident”, I swear I’ll squeeze your bandages till you puke.’ He paused again. ‘Okay, that’s me said my piece.’ He rounded the bed again and angled the chair so it was facing the patient. Then he settled on to it slowly. Arnott was blinking. His eyes seemed moist and he was focusing on the ceiling lights.
‘You’re not a cop,’ he said eventually, so softly Rebus almost didn’t catch it.
‘That’s right, Kenny.’
‘Then what are you?’
‘One of Cafferty’s oldest enemies, which is good news for you.’
‘I can’t help you. He’d kill me.’
‘You told him everything, though? Just nod if you did.’
Rebus waited and watched Arnott angle his chin downwards and up again.
‘You know who ordered that attack on Darryl Christie,’ Rebus went on. ‘They used you to find someone. You chose Rab Chatham, gave him the address but nothing else. After Chatham found out it was Darryl, he had a wobble and decided to use Craw Shand as insurance, knowing Craw would take the blame with a gladsome heart and Chatham would be safe from a vengeful Darryl. If I’m right so far, another nod would be nice.’
The head bobbed again.
‘Thank you,’ Rebus said. ‘So now we’re just left with the who and the why. The why isn’t such a problem — I think we’re slowly getting there. A name, Kenny, one little name and we can start building the case against Cafferty, always assuming the name you give me had Rab Chatham done away with... Am I safe to assume that at least?’
Arnott squeezed his eyes shut and a tear rolled down the side of his face towards his ear. ‘He’d kill me,’ he repeated, voice quavering. His whole body seemed to be shivering, and Rebus turned his eyes towards the readout on the monitor next to the drip.
‘You okay, Kenny?’ he asked.
Arnott’s teeth were clenched and his face was turning the colour of beetroot. Rebus rose from his chair and leaned over the bed. Arnott’s breathing had grown ragged.
‘Want me to call for someone? Pain getting a bit much?’ He looked around for a nurse but couldn’t see one. The numbers on the digital readout were climbing. Then Arnott seemed to spasm, his face grimacing.
‘Nurse!’ Rebus yelled.
Two arrived out of nowhere, ignoring Rebus as they flanked the patient, assessing the situation. Words flew between them and Rebus backed away, giving them all the space they might need and more. He felt the presence of someone behind him and turned to find Christine Esson standing there, staring past him with widening eyes.
More staff were approaching the bed. The curtains were being pulled closed around it. The sleeping patients had woken up and were watching. The man with the TV slipped off his headphones and craned his neck.
‘Jesus, John,’ Esson hissed.
‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘You did something.’
‘I was talking and he was listening and then...’
A machine on a trolley was being wheeled in. Rebus could see the paddles attached to it. Someone else was bringing a syringe and a small bottle of clear liquid. A nurse was closing the curtains around all the other beds, to put paid to the spectacle. She pointed at Rebus and Esson.
‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave. As in, right now.’
They took a few steps into the corridor just as more staff rushed past. ‘What do I tell Siobhan?’ Esson asked, looking in the direction of the ward.
‘The truth,’ Rebus advised.
‘Mentioning you?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘She’ll have my guts for garters, letting you have your five bloody minutes.’
‘Maybe you had to take a toilet break. I saw my chance and crept in.’
Esson stared at him. ‘Is this us concocting a story?’
‘I suppose it is,’ Rebus agreed. ‘How is it sounding so far?’
‘It sounds like you’re saving my guts from becoming garters.’ Esson peered around the corner of the nurses’ station into the ward. ‘Maybe he’ll be all right, eh?’ she said, trying to sound hopeful.
‘I’m sure he will,’ Rebus said, listening as the doctor with the paddles barked the single word ‘Clear!’
When news of Kenny Arnott’s death reached the MIT room, there was a numbed silence that lasted fully fifteen seconds until Fox broke it with a question.
‘What now?’
‘We keep going,’ James said.
‘Was the cardiac arrest brought on by the torture?’ Anne Briggs asked.
‘We’ll have to wait for the autopsy.’
‘If it was, we’re talking culpable homicide,’ Siobhan Clarke added. She had been the one who’d broken the news, after stepping out into the hallway to take Christine Esson’s call. She was still standing just inside the doorway, her phone in her hand. One detail she had left out was the presence of John Rebus at the bedside and the absence of anyone from CID.